


Stage Fright

by msvillainess



Series: Gemini [1]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Codependency, Unhealthy Sibling Relationships, domestic abuse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-17
Updated: 2015-06-17
Packaged: 2018-04-04 21:58:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 802
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4154511
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/msvillainess/pseuds/msvillainess
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>One of the key rules in theater, Richard learned early on, was never to tell the director "No."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Stage Fright

Richard never trembles on stage unless he means to. The lines he’s given are memorized and impassioned and said with confidence. Focused delivery, that’s what his director says. Stage fright is practically a foreign concept. Even when he was small, becoming another person on stage was so easy for Richard; he never bothered with adrenaline and he never shook. 

If only talking to Jim was like being on stage. 

The twins are standing opposite each other in Richard’s kitchen, separated by a granite-counter-top island and little else. Jim is standing with his back against the counter, yes, but his shoulders are raised and he’s far, far from relaxed. Richard has folded himself into the corner, slouching backward as if expecting to fold into one of the cabinets. Jim’s eyes are boring into his skull. 

“What was that you just said to me?” 

There is a block of knives on the island. Richard braces himself, and repeats what he said. 

Jim keeps staring. “I didn’t catch that.” 

Richard grips the edge of the counter to steady his hands. He’d shove them in his pockets, but that’s bad blocking. It’s like he’s watching himself on stage, opening night, struggling to remember the scene. 

“Richard? I’m speaking to you.” 

_Line._ “No,” he says again, firmer this time. Focused delivery. 

And the scene begins. 

Jim starts in on his monologue, “ _How naïve must you be, Richard, to blatantly refuse to allow me to help you when you can’t help yourself…_ ” He straightens himself off of the counter, arches forward, hands planted on the island, “ _…I don’t know why I bother consulting with you on the decisions I make for you—do you know? Do you know how many decisions I make for you, Richard, how many strings I pull behind the curtain to make things easier on you?_ ” 

The spotlight catches on the cruel shine in his brother’s eye that comes with spitting that last word, you, like it’s paining Jim, a burden weighing down too heavy on his shoulders. Richard’s cue to relieve him. 

“Well _don’t_ ,” he spits back. He mimicks Jim’s callous voice, the blade in his words. He doesn’t take back the weight. He won’t crush himself with it like Jim wants him to, not this time. 

Twins, he reminds the audience, can’t always be entirely different. 

“Don’t decide things for me then, if it’s so complicated, if it’s wasting your precious _time_.”

Richard is finely attuned to Jim’s methods, so much so that he can tell the single beat of silence that follows isn’t entirely intentional. But Jim follows through. 

“I do this out of love,” he says dangerously. “I manage you because you would fail spectacularly otherwise.” His dark eyes size Richard up, as if he needs to analyze, as if he doesn’t already know every detail. He scowls. “Look at you. You—”

Richard stands to full height. “Get out of my house.” 

He’s never interrupted Jim in his life. He’s shaking harder now but he stays there, standing, now approaching the side of the island that Jim is propping himself up on. He can actually look _down_ on his brother. He tries to steady his hands, his body. Focused delivery. 

Surprisingly enough, the block of knives goes untouched. “Don’t order me, Richard,” Jim commands. His jaw is clenched tightly. He’s remaining below Richard, not moving out of stubborn refusal to acknowledge that the lead role could be anything but his. 

“Don’t make me repeat myself, then. I know you hate it.” It takes some effort but his voice doesn’t falter. Focused delivery. 

“Listen to me. You’re too stupid to realize that I’m helping you—”

“I am done listening to you.” Focused delivery. Knives stay in the block. 

_A gun on the wall in the first act…_

Jim swings. He’s fast and he’s deceptively strong and for the first time since uni, Jim hits Richard. It knocks him off his feet, onto the kitchen tile. His hand goes quickly to his jaw. If that bruises, he’s going to have to explain it to Costuming tomorrow. He doesn’t know how. 

Jim is talking again, probably fake-apologizing, saying something like how he "didn’t want to do that, but what other choice is there when you can’t be reasonable?", but Richard’s ears are ringing and he can’t hear him and he was serious. He is done listening to his brother. He has to be. 

Richard takes his hand from his jaw. He pulls himself up by the rim of the kitchen sink. Richard stands. 

His eyes fall to the block on the island behind Jim. 

“…I do love you, baby brother.” Jim’s voice filters through.

Richard meets Jim’s dark eyes. They’ve always somehow seemed so much darker than his own. He breathes. 

“I know.” 

House lights fall. Curtain closes. There is no second act.


End file.
